gone home hours ago. She is to bring the
youngling out and then go back to tell her story to the mother how
sweetly it passed away--ah, ah--how heavenly was its smile. So it will
be--so it will! Tomas Fernandez knows the trick. He has quieted many a
leveret the same way!"

The garden door opened again, this time very slightly, a mere slit of
light lying across the tangled green and yellowish grey of the garden.
It just missed El Sarria and kindled to dusky purple a blossom of
oleander that touched his cheek as he stooped. The whites of his eyes
gleamed a moment, but the digger saw him not. His gaze was fixed on his
brother in the doorway.

"The signal," he muttered, "I am to go and wait outside for the Tia. Of
course, as usual, my good and respectable brother will not put a finger
to the job himself. Well, _toma_! he shall pay the more sweetly when all
is done--oh yes, Luis shall pay for all!"

He was standing leaning upon his mattock at the head of the little grave
which he had destined for the child of Dolores Garcia. He had been
whistling a gay Andalucian lilt of tune he had learned on his long
travels. A devil of a fellow this Tomas in his day, and whistled
marvellously between his teeth--so low that (they said) he could make
love to a Senorita in church by means of it, and yet her own mother at
her elbow never hear.

"Well, better get it over!" he said, dropping his mattock and starting
out towards the door. "Here comes the Tia!"

But at that moment the heavens fell. Upon the head of the midnight
workman descended the flat of his own spade. El Sarria had intended the
edge, but Tomas's good angel turned the weapon at the last moment or
else he had been cloven to the shoulder-blade. For it was a father's arm
that wielded the weapon. Down fell the digger of infant graves, right
athwart the excavation he himself had made. His mouth was filled with
the dirt he had thrown out, and the arm that threw it swung like a
pendulum to and fro in the hole.

CHAPTER XIV

THE HOLY INNOCENTS

With small compunction El Sarria turned Don Tomas over with his foot and
coolly appropriated the cloak he had discarded, as also his headgear,
which was banded with gay colours, and of the shape affected by the
dandies of Seville.

Then swinging the cloak about him, and setting the hat upon his head
jauntily, he strode to the garden door.

Above he could hear the angry voice of a woman, with intervals of
silence as if for